


Finding Home

by SarahWritesThings



Series: Letters to Home [3]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Episode: s06e24 Life Line, Family Dynamics, Gen, post episode, together they can overcome daddy issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-05-28 06:42:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19388614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahWritesThings/pseuds/SarahWritesThings
Summary: Admiral Owen Paris, head of the Pathfinder project, finally gets what he was waiting for.





	Finding Home

**Author's Note:**

> Read Tom's letter here: ["Letters From Home", Chapter One](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125825/chapters/42854468).  
> And I decided to use the names from the Voyager relaunch series for Tom's family, however I couldn't remember all of the details so this work is not technically relaunch series compliant, but I don't _think_ it's non-compliant either? What ever works I suppose!

As with most days, Admiral Owen Paris arrived in his office just before 0900, ready to look over his schedule and get started on the day’s work.

He glanced around, looking for the padd his assistant had said was waiting for him on his desk. There was something about an agreement His eyes fell on the framed photos sat on his desk.

There was a photo of him and Julia, smiling together on their anniversary. A photo of Kathleen and her kids, one of Moira in her medical uniform. And, of course, there was the photo of Tom, during his Academy days.

In years gone by there had been many a long day at work. In Owen’s younger days he would come in yearly, leave late, during more perilous times he might even spend the night on his little couch, grabbing a few hours of sleep before doing it all over the next day. And of course, that was nothing compared to his captaincy days.

Though Julia had never held it against him, he knew the toll he had put her through, and what he had put their family through. If he was being honest, he hadn’t really noticed, even when Tom began acting out, when Julia would try, ever so diplomatically, to explain why Tom was so angry with him.

_“He feels like you only think about him when you’re angry.”_

Owen had brushed it off at the time. Tom knew the importance of his work, knew that Starfleet meant sacrifices for the greater good. He had been a teenager at the time, surely old enough to understand.

It was only after Tom was pronounced dead that Owen realized that wasn’t true.

Life had been hard after _Voyager_ had disappeared. Owen couldn’t help but feel guilty for Tom’s death. That he hadn’t fought harder to support his son, to help keep him out of trouble. Owen remembered the last time they had spoken, remembered all the terrible things passed between them.

They had never truly recovered from the loss, but after a few years it didn’t hurt the same way it had. Julia had stopped crying when his name was mentioned, and meetings with new Starfleet officers had long since stopped beginning with their _“deepest condolences for your loss_ ”.

And then there was a glimmer of hope.

 _Voyager_ ’s EMH had been transferred to the _Prometheus_. An impossible task that sent his program 40,000 light years across the galaxy and back. Starfleet had been informed, and the entire Paris family wept with joy, knowing _finally_ what had happened, and knowing that Tom was alive, even if he was on the other side of the galaxy.

It was then that Owen took a step back from his admiralty position. He didn’t resign, not by a long shot, but he handed over positions to other officers, and he started the Pathfinder project. He made an effort to shorten his hours to the normal workday, and he made time for his wife, his daughters and his new grandchildren. He tried to remember that his family was still whole, even when it was still fractured.

This evening, for example, Owen was looking forward to dinner with them. It had become a weekly ritual, Friday nights were for the family, baring any major disaster or emergency.

Owen’s musings were interrupted by a knock on his door.

“Admiral?”

He looked up, “yes, Natasha?”

“There’s an urgent message for you.”

“From?”

“From the Pathfinder Project, Sir.”

He stood quickly, ready to head down to lab. “What about?”

“They’ve had an information block come through.”

“Information block?”

“Yes sir, from _Voyager_.”

Owen felt tears stirring in his eyes. “Did Lieutenant Barclay say when we’d be able to access the data?”

“He said a couple of hours, sir.” She was smiling warmly.

“Brilliant.” He stood, “I’ll be in the Pathfinder office until further notice.”

* * *

At 1820 hours, Owen found himself standing in the corner of the Pathfinder lab. He had made the executive decision to stay out the way, instead waiting patiently for the good news he hoped was coming.

It had been hours since they realized what the data block contained. Hours since they had sent out a message, informing the _Voyager_ families that there had been an official response. That their efforts to contact the ship had not been in vain.

In Owen’s hand was a padd, clutched tightly. The words at the top of the screen had been etched into the back of his eyelids since he had first seen them, hours before.

TO: THE PARIS FAMILY, C.O. ADM. OWEN PARIS, STARFLEET HEADQUARTERS

FROM: ENS. THOMAS PARIS, USS VOYAGER

But like any good commanding officer would, he had waited, not wanting to use his position as head of the Pathfinder Project to give him privilege of reading his letter before anyone else. He knew that families across the quadrant were waiting with bated breath, also desperate to finally receive their letter.

And besides, he wanted Julia and the girls to be able to read it with him.

Suddenly, there was a cheer from the other side of the room. Reginald Barclay was stood in the center of a crowd, being slapped on the back and officers beamed and bounced on their heels.

Owen moved towards the group, “have we done it?”

“Yes sir,” Barclay called back, trying to fight his way out of the crowd, smiling sheepishly, “All letters have been encoded and are ready to send to their labelled recipient.”

“All of them?”

He shifted uncomfortably, “those we could not directly send have been transferred to Starfleet Intelligence for further handling. They’ve promised to track down the intended recipients as fast as possible.”

Owen nodded, smiling at the young engineer. “That’s perfect, Lieutenant. You’ve done a fantastic job with Pathfinder and the MIDAS array. You should be very proud of yourself.”

Barclay smiled, awkwardly. “Thank you, sir.”

“If that’s all?” He glanced around the room, “you’re all free to go home. Go celebrate! The night shift will be here shortly to keep watch.”

The officers began to disperse, collecting personal belongings and continuing to talk excitedly. It had been a long few years, trying to contact _Voyager_ , and Owen was proud of the Pathfinder team. But more than anything, he was thankful for them.

As the last officers exited the room, Owen followed them out, desperate to make it home. He would usually take San Francisco’s public transport system back to the family estate, he decided to use his Starfleet privileges just this once to get home faster. Now that he was able to, the twenty-minute journey felt far to long to sit through, idly waiting to arrive.

The ensign on duty snapped to attention in the transporter room, saluting the high-ranking Admiral who was rarely seen in this part of the building.

“Good evening, sir, where to?”

“The Paris Residence, please. I believe the coordinates are on file?”

“Yes, they are.”

He stepped on the transporter pad. “Whenever you’re ready, Ensign.”

“Good night, Sir.”

“It will be.”

His body felt light and heavy all at once as the transporter beam picked him up. He opened his eyes to see the familiar wood of his home office, basked in the evening sun.

“Owen?” Julia called from down the hallway.

“Hello, Dear!” He made his way out of the room, “are the girls here yet?”

Kathleen’s voice sang out, “In the kitchen, Dad.”

As he rounded the corner into the large family room, Owen smiled at his family, and lounging of sofas and Julia and Moira cooked in the kitchen.

“How was work?”

“Good. You’ll never guess what happened.”

Moira glanced up at him from the stove, “what?”

“A message. From _Voyager_.”

The reaction was instantaneous. Tears appeared in Julia’s eyes, Moira dropped the spatula she had been holding, and Kathleen gasped so loudly that the kids began to look around, trying to figure out what was going on.

“A message?”

“Letters.” He held up the padd. “We got one from Tom.”

“Have you read it yet?”

“No, I wanted to wait until I was home.”

Julia beamed at him, “well come on! What did he say?”

And taking a deep breath, Owen read the letter. It felt like speaking to his son for the first time in nearly seven years.


End file.
